


tired of running out of luck

by svpportive



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, Post-Season/Series 03, feat. The Bench™️, hardy gets punched, like fuckin barely tho, this is like... so dumb like soo dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 10:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20445824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svpportive/pseuds/svpportive
Summary: Hardy says yes to going to the pub, to getting a drink like the coworkers/friends/whateverthey are. Obviously, it goes exactly as planned.





	tired of running out of luck

**Author's Note:**

> that seinfeld [meme](https://66.media.tumblr.com/d7d4d99b3c431ed065f68f6732c31701/tumblr_messaging_px2odkGhgV1rlae84_640.jpg) where jerrys like "you're crying from broadchurch?" nd george goes "the Them™ got to me alright?" oh and also the [one](https://66.media.tumblr.com/d90e6da1deb5dd12a671ba7ad47e47dd/tumblr_messaging_px2odqk8uF1rlae84_500.png) of antoni from queer eye going "a crime drama starring two traumatized detectives is something that can actually be so personal" oh and the [one](https://66.media.tumblr.com/d0b623535025d9ffc722a3b07ab1af8d/tumblr_messaging_px2odwciLR1rlae84_400.png) of ben wyatt going "its about the Bench™". yeah.
> 
> also me and yaz thought "wouldn’t it be fucking funny if: hardy said yes to going to the pub, and for some reason within the first five minutes he gets punched and while they’re waiting at the hospital miller just laughs at him"

He doesn’t actually know what on earth made him say yes. He’d regretted it the moment the word had left his mouth, and that increased twofold when she’d made a noise of surprised delight. Then tenfold with each step from the safe _ known _ space of the bench and the pier all the way to the pub.

Now, sitting in the hospital waiting room clutching his bleeding nose, he doesn’t know how to categorize his regret. He’s broken the scale at any rate.

Why had he even said yes? She’d said it herself, it wasn’t a thing they’d ever done, so why start now? Because they’d solved a particularly hard case? That was their bloody job!

But she’d smiled when he’d agreed, like he’d shocked her in a good way for once, and after the turmoil his stomach had had to go through at seeing her crying on the steps that day, well. That smile had come as a relief.

Fat lot of good her smiling did him now though. All he’s got to show for it is a possibly broken nose.

They’d gone to the pub, sat down, and Miller started chatting with the waitress about something or the other and he’d tuned them out in favor of the menu. He hadn’t had a chance to actually order anything however. They couldn’t have been in there more than five minutes before their old friend Jim Atwood has sauntered over and punched him square in the face, for quote-unquote, “fucking up his life.”

There was probably more, maybe even enough for a monologue, but because he hadn’t been expecting the punch he had gone down hard. When he came to he was being bundled into Miller’s car with a wad of napkins to stem the bleeding and her throwing him worried glances in between yelling at anyone on the road.

And now here. There was a bit of a wait, Friday night apparently made the ER a bit of a hotbed for activity, and he was loath to use his credentials for something that probably amounted to nothing truly horrific. She hadn’t liked that, but hadn’t protested which is more than he could usually ask for. 

He hasn’t said a word since, but thankfully Miller is one of the few people who knows how to let the quiet be just that. She chats idly here and there, out of lingering panic he knows. but it’s all rhetorical, or can be answered with a vague nod, which suit them both just fine. Better than her fussing.

She had gone off to find him ice though, which he conceded to. Better her than him; he knew after his repeated visits that the staff here didn’t think too kindly of him.

He doesn’t understand how she can do it, just _ talk _ to people. She understood people, their emotions, in a way he just couldn’t, not outside the interrogation room. He doesn’t have any social niceties left, or so he’s been told, but he chalks that up to everyone around him disappointing him enough that he doesn’t even attempt to bother anymore. 

But everyone had disappointed her too, arguably in much worse ways, and through time she had grown back to be as determinedly social as ever. 

Her stubbornness was admirable, that much was true.

When she returns she doesn’t just hand the bag of ice to him, batting his hands away to press it to his face herself, look of stern determination on her face. He grumbles but allows her.

“Is Daisy okay for the night? If you have to stay here much longer, I mean.”

He goes to nod but the movement against the bag hurts and he winces.

“Hold still.” She tells him, as if he hadn’t already figured that out.

“Yeah, should be fine.” He answers instead, “I sent her a text, in case.”

Her expression is all judgment, “A text?”

He rolls his eyes, “I’ll call her later, she’s with Chloe anyhow I think. If I don’t get back by dinner I’ll tell her.”

“You’d better.” She nods approvingly, “Now take this, ‘m not your nursemaid.”

He takes over where her hand was on the ice bag over his nose, not bothering to comment.

Their quiet returns, and it settles within him. He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall, tries to get comfortable in the plastic seat with the low pangs in his nose.

Until he hears her make a noise.

He looks over and she’s got her hand over her mouth and she’s facing forward like she’s determined not to look at him.

“Miller?” he says cautiously. Oh god is she going to- cry or something again? He didn’t know how to deal with that the first time and now he was injured he couldn’t possibly-

She makes the noise again, through her hand, and then looks at him, and then it tumbles out of her and he realizes it’s laughter.

It’s not just laughter it’s _ giggling _.

“What? What’s going on?” She doesn’t respond, just screws her eyes shut and keeps at it, “Miller, what-“

“It’s just,” Oh god, she’s smiling, and it’s worse because it’s bigger, “you know I dreamed about this. When you first started.”

“You dreamed about me getting punched?”

“Well I was the one doing it, of course.”

He remembers the open hostility. “Of course.”

She breaks the lull with another badly stifled giggle.

“What now?”

“It’s just funny that it happened now after all this time! When we were finally going to do a-" she gestures with her hands, as if that’s supposed to help, "you know. Normal people thing.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well you came to dinner and then weeks later arrested my husband, and now we tried to go to the pub together and you got punched. Imagine if we’d gone to a restaurant or something. The bloody sky would’ve fallen.”

She’s giggling again and it’s like the tiredness and the broken nose and the absurdity of it all and sinks in and it starts him off too, chuckling until the pain forces him to stop. And but then he’s still got the residue of it on his face, a small smile he can’t quite tamp down.

They breathe together, or as much as he can, and it’s like the safety of being on their bench. She’s brought it to them, that sense of an island where it’s only the two of them. Unreachable to whatever trauma is usually nipping at their ankles. Untouchable.

Someone’s phone rings, not either of theirs, but it reminds him. “Haven’t you got to get back to the boys? You don’t have to stay, Miller.”

“Bugger off, you’re not getting rid of me. I know the second I try to leave you’ll get in a car and won’t even see the doctor before going home and trying to patch it up yourself.”

* * *

She drives him home afterward.

He has to resist the urge to flex his hand. When he had finally seen the doctor they’d had to realign his nose to reset it. He’d grabbed at the sheets due to the pain, and for some unfathomable reason she’d put her own hand on top of his and squeezed.

He could feel it like a phantom.

They’re almost to his house on the hill when he sighs and continues their conversation from before, because it had begun to eat at him. “I am sorry though, that this didn’t go better.”

She catches on quickly, as always, and shrugs, “Well at least I got to see you get punched. That’s the highlight of my month right there, so it wasn’t too bad.”

He rolls his eyes but he can feel his lips quirk. She’d probably call it more of a grimace. Whatever.

They pull into his driveway. For whatever reason, words keep coming out of his mouth. “Yeah, but it did rather get in the way of our pub date.”

Wait.

“Date?”

“Er,” he squints at his front lawn. Backpedal. “Wasn’t that what it was?”

Horrible recovery. That was the second worst thing he could’ve said there. First was calling it a date in the first place. Out loud. God.

“No!”

“Right,” he exhales and they both face forward again, stewing in it. He’d escape but she’s got the doors locked still.

The quiet isn’t what it was, what it always has been. It’s awkward now, for a start. Fuck if he’s just ruined the one of the only good things he had g-

She wrinkles her nose, “Could be though?”

“What?”

“A date. Not in a pub though, who do you take me for?”

Wait. He turns to face her more clearly, made difficult with the seatbelt still on. “You’re asking me on a date?”

She makes an exasperated noise, “You asked me much less questions last time you thought I was asking!”

“Yeah but apparently I misunderstood then so you can see why I’m checkin-“

“Yes! Bloody hell, I’m asking! Now say yes or get out of the car and we’ll never speak of this again.”

He stays in the car. “Yes.”

Instead of grinning, or any way else he’d imagine she would react she just sighs, but her shoulders relax.

“So bloody difficult. Alright. I’ll pick you up then? We can go someplace nice, maybe out of town-“

“Are you sure, though?”

She stops. “Sure about what? Out of town? Yes, people are so nosy here. You remember that affair nonsen-“

“No about. Going on a date. With me,” he nods to himself, “shitface.”

There must’ve been something in the painkillers they gave him, _fuck_, he’s talking so fucking much. He should’ve never gone to the hospital.

But then again she smiles at him, and it’s like the pier again. Easy. Gentle. Slightly teasing.

“You sure about going on a date with the traumatized ex-wife of a murderer?” she retorts.

That gets a smile out of him, and in the dark it stumbles out of him easier than ever. “Getting there.”

She smiles back. “Same then. I’ve not got any other objections, have you?”

“None.”

“Alright then, we’ll see if the sky falls down on us, eh? Sir?”

He opens the door, “You don’t have to-“ at her cheeky grin he holds up a finger, “No. See you tomorrow, Miller.”

She nods, and well he can see now that the smile on the pier was just the beginning, “See you tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> the song yet again comes from miss kylie minogues fever album this time it's love at first sight. ppl always say that davids typecast is just “slutty” and “a bottom” and while that’s true I think it’s more “dumb but respects women” which is even better
> 
> im [svpportive](https://svpportive.tumblr.com/) on tumblr so come say hi if u liked this !! if u didnt u can still come say hi i guess


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